A Supertramp CD plays "Even The Quietest Moments" as I drive down the motorway. I've tried to block out the rows and accusations but I know my partner lied. He's been with that woman. After, I drank a bottle of red wine and now, twenty four hours later, I'm off to visit my family, hoping to get TLC and my mother's beef broth accompanied by spicy dumplings.

"Dreamer" is now playing and I remember the dream I'd had during my alcohol induced sleep. I was driving along a stretch of road when suddenly, in front of me, a high, wide object appeared. In my dream, I don't slam on the brakes but head straight at it and after waking up with a whimper, that dream has followed me around all day.
Rain beats down but comforting myself, I recall that in my dream the night was dry. Now my wipers zigzag, scraping blurry images across the windscreen and the occassional car overtakes but, at this hour, the motorway is almost deserted.
The strains of "Babaji" fills my car, swells my heart. 'Babaji, oh won't you come to me,' I sing along as the heater pumps stuffy warmth onto my legs. Curtis loved this album. Sometimes at weekends, we'd have an Indian takeaway, open a bottle of wine and listen to our favourite CD's. That was when he was in a good mood. Not morose, blaming me for my inadequacies. Telling me I dressed like a slag.
Feeling tears beginning to sting, I tell myself I must stop thinking about that two-timing, bullying bastard.
Hell! There's a car right up my backside, headlights glaring. 'Overtake you fool. What's stopping you?' I pull into the slow lane, hoping he'll pass by, but he stays glued to my tail.
There's a bump. The bastard's nudged my bumper! Through the driving mirror, I can see a male, shadowy form. He's drawing alongside. Appears to lean across the passenger seat. Maybe he's spotted something wrong with my car and is trying to tell me? No, he's shaking his fist! What's wrong with that Macho Creep?
"Give A Little Bit" is now playing. "See the man with the lonely eyes, take his hand and you'll be surprised." The unknown driver is now dawdling ahead in the middle lane, practically crawling along like me. It couldn't be Curtis, could it? He always said he'd never let me go that I was his and his alone.
Slamming my foot down on the accelerator, I speed past him out onto the fast lane and momentarily, I'm blinded by his flashing headlights. God! he's speeding up again. Hell! he's given my bumper another nudge which sends me careering across onto the slow lane. Battling with the steering wheel, I manage to straighten my little Fiesta.
"Lover Boy" comes on the CD. I laugh despite my terror. "You can't stop Lover Boy." Well, I've got news for you, I going to try before he kills me.
My mobile, where's my mobile? Oh God, it's in my handbag on the back seat. Pull yourself together. Take charge of the situation. Crying is a sign of weakness. When was the last time you cried? After Smudge, my cat died. Yea, that was different. Strangely, my panic dies. Anger takes over.
A large sign looms ahead. It's a sign for Usk. If I divert at the last moment, he will drive on towards The Severn Bridge.
I turn off at the junction and head down to a roundabout knowing that this detour will take me miles from my destination.
God, he's following! Keep cool. Don't panic. Outside beyond my hot space, there is pure darkness. No moon. No stars. Nothing. But I remember this road well. It's the road that leads to an old farmhouse where my grandparents lived. My parents and siblings travelled this stretch many times when we were young.
I push down on the accelerator. My pursuer isn't as close now. Maybe darkness has made him wary. As soon as I think that hopeful thought, he's speeding up but, suddenly, as if from nowhere, I spot an articulated lorry that has jack-knifed on the wet surface.
I switch off my lights. My pursuer, almost upon me, blasts his car horn. Last minute, wrenching the steering wheel over to my left, my car veers onto a picnic area, bashing into a litter bin. Slamming my foot on the brake, we skid across grass coming to a stop inches from a chestnut tree.
Behind me, there is a sound of impact. Millions of sparks fly up into darkness and for a long while, I sit breathing deeply before starting the car to make a bumpy progress back onto the road.
As I drive away, "Fools Overture," is playing and I sing along, 'HolyMan, Rocker Man, come on Queenie. Joker Man, Spider Man, Blue-eyed Meanie.'
And when my favourite track comes to an end, I'm back on the motorway glad, in a sentimental way, that Macho Man wasn't Curtis.